Sunshine and flowers

No news is no news. I had my viral load checked this week, but since I didn't get to the lab until Tuesday morning I haven't yet heard the results. All of the other tests came back (I'm beautifully healthy), but that one takes longer than the rest. So I'll have to wait until Monday to know if I've attained the long-awaited zero.

The party was a smashing success and a good time was had by all. I forgot to get out my parasol and ended up with a sunburn, but that's really the only complaint I could possibly come up with. There was good food and plenty of it; people played games and talked and laughed and had fun; and we all got to show our appreciation of Kim with cake and gifts and cards. At one point I stopped and looked around at all the people and said to myself, "I need to remember this when I start thinking I don't have any friends." Later, when it was all over and cleaned up and I was able to take stock, I realized just how much I love entertaining. I love to throw parties for the people I love. I like small, intimate gatherings, and I love to have my friends over for food and games and conversation. I haven't been able to indulge that very much in my life because I tend to live in places which are too small for parties. Currently I live in a converted garage which is big enough for me but certainly not big enough to have, say, a Scrabble party. I have permission to use the back yard here whenever I want, but I don't want to overdo it. Besides, some parties just need to happen indoors and at night.

One result of the party was that my friend Rebecca came over today with a bunch of plants for my tiny garden-box. I have a handkerchief-sized yard of my own with a wooden box in it, about one foot by two feet, and when I moved in it was full of dirt and worms but had no plants in it. When Rebecca saw it at the party, she offered to give me some plants from her garden, and we spent an hour or so this morning preparing the soil and planting iris, nasturtiums, geraniums, lobelia, sage and various other pretty and good-smelling plants. It's obvious that some previous tenant had a green thumb, because the soil in the box is really good and rich, and there are still earthworms in it, which is a good sign. So now I have a garden and can go out and put my hands in the soil when I feel the need. I like gardening. And soon I'll have a profusion of flowers to look at and to use to attract butterflies and hummingbirds. I can sit out in the sunshine in my little yard and survey my handiwork while the birds and the insects flit about busily, doing their bit to ensure that reproduction occurs and everyone gets enough to eat.

I haven't got a mirror in my apartment, other than the small one on the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, so I haven't seen what I look like in a full-length mirror in a long time. On Sunday I house-sat for a friend whose apartment is full of mirrors, so I took the opportunity to examine myself in one of them, to survey the wreckage, so to speak. As I looked at it, I was struck by the recognition that I have a really nice body which I haven't taken very good care of. Even so, it looks damned good. It's a bit flabby, but not as much as it ought to be, considering how little exercise I get. It's perfectly proportioned and naturally muscular without a lot of fat, it has unblemished skin and not a lot of hair. It almost never gets sick. It has abundant energy. In short, it's a fucking miracle and I should be grateful for having been issued such a good one and stop focusing on what I perceive to be its flaws. Since I turned forty I've seen the aging process speed up; it seems that I see some new evidence in my face every morning when I put on my make-up. But it struck me on Sunday that lamenting and grieving what I've lost only makes things worse. If I celebrate what I've got left I can enjoy it while it's here and perhaps not feel so bereft when it goes.

My friend has a mini trampoline, which I hauled out and jumped on for about half an hour that night. I was surprised by how much I enjoyed it. I hate running, but I can jump on a trampoline for hours. I liked it so much, in fact, that I decided right then and there to buy myself a mini trampoline, which I did on Monday. I bought it online and it hasn't arrived yet, but I'm waiting breathlessly for it to get here so I can jump on it (I'll have to buy myself a really good sports bra first, though). I'm not crazy about exercise for its own sake, so I've been looking for a way to get myself to do it on a regular basis. I love working with weights (I like to show off my muscles and see what they can do), so I've been doing some of that with the little five-pound weights I have at home, as well as push-ups and backwards push-ups and so forth, but I don't really get much aerobic exercise. I knew I had to find something that was fun, and I think I've found it. And if that gets boring after awhile, there's always hooping, which another friend of mine does. She showed me some moves the other day and that looked fun, too.

Bodily appreciation week continued when I met with Dr H on Wednesday and learned that all of my tests were normal, once again. Dr H said I'm in the top 10 percent as far as toleration of the drugs, and I'm very grateful for that. I chalk it up to good genes. I'm healthier than I deserve to be, taking everything into account. I eat pretty well, but I also smoke and don't get enough exercise, as I said above, and I spent quite a few years abusing my body with street drugs and needles. I've seen up close the damage that drugs can do to a person's body, and I'm grateful to have been spared that. Quitting smoking is next on the list of things to do that are good for me, and I suspect that this breathing trouble I've been having will tip the scales for me. I can't enjoy a cigarette when I'm feeling breathless already. I've got the lozenges; now I just need to set a date.

That's it for today, although I may write another entry on Monday, when I get the results of my viral load test.